StephenJames
Virgin
- Joined
- Feb 22, 2013
- Posts
- 27
Why do humans push the limits? Why strive to control everything, however limited, that their microcosmic world can offer? Why do men dominate and women submit? Why do they seek to rape, and degrade, and humiliate, and sometimes, seek to be humiliated in return. Throughout history, the unnessecary drama of such human impulses, guided by their all powerful hormones, has been the driving force behind every atrocious act humanity has ever performed. This is in the mind of every modern man who interacts with any woman all across civilisation. Domination. What does it mean to dominate, and why do these barely evolved animals seek it so... Hungrily...
To take complete control of another. To use her body and soul to their own purpose and will. To ignore the social constructs they have built in their time which say that everybody is equal, and to ignore the feministic 'rules' of sex in which, in fact, women dominate culture by being behind every man with power, holding the keys to their races sexuality over men's heads.
They call this a 'power game', though in truth, it is not about power. They call it domination, though it is not really about control. It is the violent tendencies of their race, born deep into all of them, defining them for thousands of years, combined with the just as natural sexual urges creating something more liberating than both. Foreplay is supposed to be about equality and is the essence of consensuality, but in the deepest recesses of a man's heart, a man who has stood apart and said to the world, 'I reject your designs! I will not be what you want me to be!', true foreplay is in the struggle. Of the chase, or the overpowering, that stimulates both their sexuality and violence in a way more powerful than either of these alone.
It is the thought that a woman under their thumb is no longer a woman. In a way, no longer human. No longer independent of thought and self aware as all humans are. Therefore her protestations are meaningless and fall on deaf ears, her screams, irrelevant.
It is the thought that, within a man like this's grasp, she transforms from human into object. Toy. Possession. Nothing more.
*************
I admit that over the many years I have lived amongst their kind, I have too fallen prey to those same follies. The evil side of their race can, at times be so strong, it reaches out and infects that around it. Even one such as me, who didn't know more evil existed than what I'd already inflicted. They could even show a demon new depths of torment! But though a human would deny that depravity in their own heart, I am at least able to be honest when I say that these motivations are not mine. I care not for breaking taboos and finding new heights and new depths for the soul to explore. Nor the social chains holding people in place in their tiny lives. I just seek the sweet intoxication of the 'divine'. To use it at will.
In the earliest writings of my kind, writings that have long been lost to the earthly realm, damaged from the transition from hell and the translation into human doctrine, I found something fascinating. A method of harnessing the power of 'divinity'. The incredible potential that the soilders of heaven all possess. We once had it too. Stripped of it long ago, before the world in its ignorance believed us confined to myths written only for those with faith, all demons begged for its return. To feel that peace again. The heroin of our people...
All you need to do is consume the tear if an angel every day.
Sounds simple, though I had spent decades in research just to find that out. Decades more to find an angel, hidden among the billions of humans on this plane. Notoriously difficult, its almost impossible to tell an angel apart from the masses, and like us, they hid well. But find one I did. Where else but New York City. Living in its annimosity. The very place where an angel would be needed most in the world, and now there was one less...
The collar preventing her from accessing the 'divine' herself fit snugly around her neck as I threw her to the floor of the soundproofed basement...
To take complete control of another. To use her body and soul to their own purpose and will. To ignore the social constructs they have built in their time which say that everybody is equal, and to ignore the feministic 'rules' of sex in which, in fact, women dominate culture by being behind every man with power, holding the keys to their races sexuality over men's heads.
They call this a 'power game', though in truth, it is not about power. They call it domination, though it is not really about control. It is the violent tendencies of their race, born deep into all of them, defining them for thousands of years, combined with the just as natural sexual urges creating something more liberating than both. Foreplay is supposed to be about equality and is the essence of consensuality, but in the deepest recesses of a man's heart, a man who has stood apart and said to the world, 'I reject your designs! I will not be what you want me to be!', true foreplay is in the struggle. Of the chase, or the overpowering, that stimulates both their sexuality and violence in a way more powerful than either of these alone.
It is the thought that a woman under their thumb is no longer a woman. In a way, no longer human. No longer independent of thought and self aware as all humans are. Therefore her protestations are meaningless and fall on deaf ears, her screams, irrelevant.
It is the thought that, within a man like this's grasp, she transforms from human into object. Toy. Possession. Nothing more.
*************
I admit that over the many years I have lived amongst their kind, I have too fallen prey to those same follies. The evil side of their race can, at times be so strong, it reaches out and infects that around it. Even one such as me, who didn't know more evil existed than what I'd already inflicted. They could even show a demon new depths of torment! But though a human would deny that depravity in their own heart, I am at least able to be honest when I say that these motivations are not mine. I care not for breaking taboos and finding new heights and new depths for the soul to explore. Nor the social chains holding people in place in their tiny lives. I just seek the sweet intoxication of the 'divine'. To use it at will.
In the earliest writings of my kind, writings that have long been lost to the earthly realm, damaged from the transition from hell and the translation into human doctrine, I found something fascinating. A method of harnessing the power of 'divinity'. The incredible potential that the soilders of heaven all possess. We once had it too. Stripped of it long ago, before the world in its ignorance believed us confined to myths written only for those with faith, all demons begged for its return. To feel that peace again. The heroin of our people...
All you need to do is consume the tear if an angel every day.
Sounds simple, though I had spent decades in research just to find that out. Decades more to find an angel, hidden among the billions of humans on this plane. Notoriously difficult, its almost impossible to tell an angel apart from the masses, and like us, they hid well. But find one I did. Where else but New York City. Living in its annimosity. The very place where an angel would be needed most in the world, and now there was one less...
The collar preventing her from accessing the 'divine' herself fit snugly around her neck as I threw her to the floor of the soundproofed basement...
